Of Kings and Queens and Jotunnheim
by ObsessiveCompulsiveforhp
Summary: Loki finds love in a mysterious sorceress who is determined to free him from Thanos' rule and from the perils of a bitter heart. LokixOC pst Avengers AU
1. Chapter 1

It was as he had expected.

He had been handled gently, if only because the nuisance Thor refused to leave his side. The prison cell he had been given was the bedchamber Frigga had chosen for him, all those years ago, the one he'd used up until his untimely departure from Asgard, something he had not entirely put out of the realm of possibility, even in his darkest hour, even when looking emotionlessly, as difficult as it was, into those disappointed blue eyes of the man that had claimed him as brother.

He would never be worth that title.

He would never be worthy.

he had been counting on the prince's obvious fondness of him to bear him through some of the more unpleasant aspects of returning willingly to Asgard. Like being saved from the keeper of the gallows. And escaping the horrors of the prisons, such as they were. And avoiding the weeping mother, as much as he wanted to bury his head in the folds of her dress as in days gone by.

The bed, draperies and other foibles of his personal bed chamber were as he had left them, save tidied by the house staff. He assumed he had Thor again to thank for that, as well as not being thrown into the coldest, draftiest dungeons Odin Allfather could find.

Though considering his true heritage, perhaps it would be the hottest that they chose for his punishment.

There was a letter on his bedside table. In Frigga's handwriting. He would read it later, after his guard left.

If they ever did.

Thor had sat with him for a nearly unbearable amount of hours. Unbearable because Loki had wanted to tell him EVERYTHING, of his discovery of his true heritage, of the things Fa- Odin had said to him, the impenetrable darkness as he fell and fell through space and time and then the Chitauri, how they had been nice to him at first, laughing and talking and learning his secrets and then the torture, hours and days and years of endless torture in a corner of the universe Heimdall couldn't hear him from because he had refused to take them to the tesseract.

Loki was no fool. He had seen what the Chitauri could do, heard of their legends in the halls of Asgard, seen for himself their brutality and blood-thirst while they were yet 'friends'. To turn a power source of any kind over to that race was to ensure the annihilation of the entire nine realms. Loki wanted power, yes, prestige, yes, recognition, yes, but if everyone in the universe was dead then there would be no one to give it to him, so no, he had not wanted any part in that plan.

But they had beaten him down, worn away at all his weak points, his father, Thor, always the second son, second best, not as handsome or strong or noble as Thor, stuck in the shadows, always overlooked, they had read him as if he was an open book spread out before them, and they had won. They had poisoned his mind with the Tessaract's power, a key of some sort to the artifact they had somehow gotten a hand of, and Loki had become their unwilling servant. He had had a plan, yes, but it would ensure the title 'the bad son' was the least of his worries.

But the next king of Asgard had not once attempted to get him to talk, or done much at all in regards to him. As he left though, he had drawn him close, an embrace, a whiskery kiss to his temple Loki both wished and did not that his hands were free to wipe it off and a whispered "I forgive you brother", against his ear and then Thor was gone, presumably to rest from their rather trying journey and stay in Midgard.

Loki was left alone to ponder. He assumed Odin would be there shortly to lecture, or sentence, free him from the Tessaract's and Thanos' joint influenece. It would seem the way things were supposed to happen. Odin obviously could not be bothered to attend his son's triumphant return with the menace that had been a thorn in his side all across the the universe, and so he would come up here later, when he finally deemed it important, and deal with him.

Loki was not enthused.

His hands were stll bound, which made sitting uncomfortable. He stood, intending to walk over to the window to stretch his legs, and his guard moved, shifting his footing and drawing a broadsword (did they even still forge broadswords?) easily in front of him. Loki stared, considering the connotations of those actions. He was truly a prisoner. Obvious. This guard, or whoever assigned him, obviously thought he was a serious threat, even when he was effectively bound and gagged, completely harmless. Who had sent the guard? Thor had looked askance at the over large man as soon as he had walked through the door, so Loki doubted it was he. Odin, perhaps. The only other likely suspect.

he smiled beneath his gag, and continued on his way. The window was tall and thin, too think for him to even pass through, had the palace' enchantments even allowed such things. There was the heavy thudding of footsteps on the ground and then a crash, one that had him spinning around, heart racing in his chest.

Th guard was spread out on the ground. Unconscious. Broadsword halfway across the room. Was that blood?

That was...bad. very much so. If someone came in, anyone, Thor, Frigga, or Odin he was dead, or as good as, they would cart him off to the gallows and then he would be...dead.

Dead. Completely out of the realm of Thanos' power. Unless of course the being managed to court death. Who knew. But Loki would die. That was sure. Never agains would he have to worry about disappointing Thor and Frigga and how much he loathed but did not Odin All father. He would surely never see the halls of Valhalla, but perhaps Helheim was not as bad as people made it seem?

But he did not want to die, especially not on his own terms. Even in his darkest hour suffering at the hands of the Chitauri he had wanted VENGEANCE, never death, and he surely would not accept it now.

But what had happened? Surely the guard had been on his way to threaten, or maim, his person in some fashion. As much as Loki was thankful the brute had not had the chance he was more concerned, now, with knowing WHY. Asgardians did not simply collapse for no good reason.

Especially since the man was not dead.

Loki had inched closer, now stood close enough to see the man's back rise adn fall in time with his breathing. Someone had rendered his guard unconscious. Why? Did they expect him to escape? Did they want him to? Was it Thanos, somehow acting here within this room though he was thousands of light years away on some forgotten rock in the farthest reaches of Yddrasil? Well then, unless he seized control of Loki's own limbs and forced him out of this room, out of the safety that Asgard's many walls represented, Loki was going no where.

An hour passed. Two. Loki moved himself to his bed, and after several rather embarrasing attempts to find a comfortable position he had managed to prop himself upright against s multitude of pillows. He wished, briefly, that he had not had to show Thor the extent of his powers of illusion. Perhaps then he would have had his hands free, to fling himself to his bed and hide under the covers like the child he was acting.

For it was certainly childish to make a big enough mess till your brother had to drag you home to father and mother for punishment. But it was what he wanted. The only way he could escape Thanos' scheme. And it had worked, so Loki was feeling charitable enough to call a spade a spade, as the Midgardian saying went.

Midgard. he would return there someday. Attempt to make some amends, if they would let him.

But he was a god. He could do what he wanted.

Another hour and the guard had yet to move. A tingle of apprehension graced the base of his spine. Perhaps he should sound some kind of alarm. It was easy to see he had been sitting in the same spot for hours now. It was perhaps just as easy to see the guard had been indisposed for the same amount of time. Loki frowned, turning to gaze out the window at an orange sky piled high with clouds. This was boring. He'd much rather someone come in and make a fuss. Waiting was obnoxious.

And then the guard's body moved. Loki watched it, watched the hulking mass, broader in the shoulders than even Thor, rise up from the ground as if it were nothing more than air itself, watched as it travelled gracefully till it was within inches of the door, which swung open and then there was a spike of panic because that door was supposed to be LOCKED, only able to be opened by either Thor or Odin and Thor had not a sliver of talent for illusions but Odin DID and then the door was closed and the guard was out in the hallway, still unconscious, and Loki was alone.

But he was not foolish enough to think that. Obviously there was a force of nature, either known or unknown, here in the room with him. He wondered if this was Odin's plan. Isolate him and have him killed, the stolen son that just would not behave. Remove the guard so as to preserve that innocent life, summon the tears for one's son and wife when the horrible news finally reached their ears, hours after it was too late to do anything for poor Loki. Yes. This was Odin's doing. Whatever it was, Loki would accept. It was not like he had a choice.

Of course he could still move, but would good would that do but prolong the inevitable and probably enrage whatever was assigned to take his life.

And then there were hands on his face, and Loki froze, all thoughts of dying torn from his mind. Cool, smooth fingers traced along the outline of Thor's muzzle, a tug here, a tap there along his jaw. He studied the air in front of him intently, but could not discern the slightest ripple or distortion. The illusionist was good. Too good. A professional, then, and a elusive one. he had trained under every rumoured illusionist of Asgard, save Odin, because of reasons, and none of them was able to cloak themselves so completely to the naked eye up close.

Was it Odin? No, fingers were far too slim and smooth to be the All Father's. Besides, Odin was a heavy breather, no doubt because of his royal girth; he'd never be able to stand so close to him and not collapse for the need to breathe. Frigga, then? No. Mother's fingers were slim, yes, but her hands also shook, had for years, for "nerves" she had said, over he and Thor doing stupid things to themselves and one another.

The person was a woman though. Loki was not sure how he knew, other than he did. He did not think one could discern gender from the feel of some anonymous body part pressed against one's thigh, but he supposed, in the vast nine realms, there had to be a school of thought for it. It could have been the slightest scent of apples wafting under his nose as well. Men tended not to smell like apples. Pigs, yes, but not apples.

There was a click and then a hiss from the back of his head and then the muzzle, annoying device that it was, slipped off his face, floated about an arm's breadth away from his person and then flopped toward the end of his bed. Loki watched its progress, unsure of what exactly was going on. The presence against his leg was still there, warm even through his plating and armour. He wondered at that. No women had any NEED to give off that much heat. Unless of course she was IN heat, but Loki rather thought his muzzle would not have been the first thing to go if that were so.

A hand on his chin, then, turning his face back towards the invisible person's. His eyes saw only the room beyond: the cape he had had fashioned for his reign over Asgard that Thor had mercifully let him keep, a pair of boots he probably wore once and then couldn't find, since they were under a pile of books and papers and rocks, all things that he probably had a good reason for gathering but couldn't remember now. The sunlight filtered into the room, bouncing off facets and gold plating set into the walls and mouldings. It was his room he was seeing, and nothing else, yet there was most definitely someone standing, or half kneeling, before him.

"Show yourself." His voice sounded horrible, which he supposed was a given, considering all the yelling he had done in the hours gone by. His mystery visitor did not reveal herself, however. He gazed steadily ahead, before the thought crossed his mind that he was probably staring directly at her chest, or would be if she had been visible. Not that he cared, one way or the other, but he averted his eyes anyway.

Was it Hel, come to consider him before stealing him away to suffer in her domain? He doubted it. He did not think she was one to consider anything. Was it Sif, then, playing a trick on him? No. Sif had all the subtlety of a charging bull.

Who then? "Will you keep me in suspense?"

"Perhaps."

Confirmation. Her voice was low, mellow, no trace of fear or anticipation or any emotion at all within. She was totally composed, if still invisible. it irked him.

"Have you no respect? If you are going to kill me, then you should at least pay me the honour of seeing your face."

There was quiet for a moment, then those fingers moved, tracing over the span of his forehead, pushing his disheveled hair back, then trailing down his jaw in a manner that was nearly indecent.

"I have no wish to kill you, my king."

He snarled, baring teeth at his unnamed company. "I am no king."

Another pass of those fingers through his hair. "Perhaps. Perhaps in time. It is in your blood, you realize. You were bred for royalty."

Did she understand nothing? "My father - "

"Laufey was a king. He had one son, and now that he has passed from this world into the other it is up to his son to carry on the rule of Jotunheim. Odin stole you from certain death, I assure you. Bred you for the role you would most surely play. You could have been given to one of the nobles to raise; they are certainly loyal enough to Odin to have kept the secret of your birth. You must consider that there are reasons Odin did the things he did. Otherwise this blind rage will consume you, love. Please, do not let it."

It was unfortunate that he could not move. Loki greatly wanted to rip himself from this mystery woman's hold and pace, if not flee the room and this conversation altogether. It was unfortunate that she made sense. He did not want to think about what his life would have been like had Odin left him, a defenceless babe, in the ruin of Jotunnheim. Laufey had been alive, yes, but hadn't he been hidden from him? Or was that a rumour? Even if it was, he knew enough about the practices of Jotuns to know that he did NOT want to live among them for any period of time, the stories of their barbarism only told half the tale.

He would have questioned her further, he would have, had not a terrible, blinding pain encompassed him then, reducing him to nothing, nothing but ash and pain and there was a terrible, terrible sort of angry smugness filtering in above it all and fire and complete and utter nothingness filling him up in every possible way till he thought he might explode, yes, and exploding would be a blessing, the pressure building and building until thoughts ceased to be, Loki ceased to exist and then there was nothing and pain and everything all at once...

Relief came as a cool breeze while on the plains of Helheim. His breaths came in hard, frequent passes through his lips, past a burning throat and he realized he had been screaming somehow in a way he hadn't noticed before. The familiar cool stones of his bedchamber floor pressed against his back and arms, something soft separated his shoulders from the floor, and there was a hand on his forehead.

His eyes blinked lazily open, the action requiring more effort than he though necessary but everything HURT, only to gaze uncomprehendingly at the sight before him.

Silver-green eyes, the likes of which he had never seen. Skin deep and smooth, like Heimdall's, but WOMANLY, if possible. More hair than any woman needs flowing past her bent shoulders. He hoped she was clothed.

"Who are you?"

And a smile. Small, conniving, smug, for some reason. "I am Orisis."


	2. Chapter 2

Jotunnheim 2

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel.

Orisis, if that was truly her name, stepped around him with a cool ease that irritated the scion in him. She'd somehow managed to transfer his weight from the floor back to his bed, unbound his hands but still deprive him of the ability to actually do anything. There was a part of her consciousness somehow embedded in his own, pressing the raging presence of Thanos away from his fragile semblance of sanity. He could be furious. He could be grateful. He chose neither, and watched her mostly bare back undulate under the light of the sun.

She was equal parts infuriating and entrancing, a combination Loki found himself quite unequipped to handle. His limbs still twitched in remembered pain now and again, and he supposed he should be grateful for her presence, both for the buffer she provided and the tincture that she now brought to his lips. He remembered the smell, from ages gone by and he'd gotten into a rather nasty scrape with a young bilgesnipe. Frigga had tended to him then, and the onslaught of memories was the only reason he opened his mouth. Warm, pleasant to the taste, light as vapor. She had made it right, and the urge to verbally question her medical skills fell away.

Her hair, inkiest black and tightly curled and longer than was necessary, hung over her shoulder like the pelt of some animal, but smelled nicer, an airy sort of blossom scent wafting across his nose every time she drew near. And she was always near, touching his forehead, caressing his cheek...Loki did nothing but stare at her, his admittedly agile brain trying to figure her out.

Of course, she wanted something. She was, after all, a woman, and a powerful one, even if what he'd seen of her skill was the most she could perform. He doubted it, but then that wasn't the point. She wanted something from him, which was why she was here, helping him, making him comfortable. It was simultaneously easier and that much harder to accept her ministrations once he'd fixed that in his mind. She looked at him then, just as he was berating himself for ever beginning to think otherwise, her odd silver-green eyes filled with a sad sort of amusement. "Always assume the worst, I see. You have no need to fear, my king. My selfish motivation has no further bounds than your rise to greatness."

"And why is that?" He watched her face, inwardly perturbed that she seemed as open as Thor on his best day. "What possible reason could you have to become so personally invested in a lost cause?"

"No cause is lost, my king, if there is but one fool to fight for it."

"And you have determined to be the fool, then? Why? What motivates you so?"

"I have seen it."

Her words confused him. As did the small, content smile that never truly left her visage. He narrowed his eyes at her, green shards glinting in the light. "You have seen it. Explain."

She gave him a true grin, white teeth a flashing contrast against her skin. "I wondered if you would believe me."

"Not sure I believe anything. You've not done any explaining."

"Should I start with my mother, or higher up on my ancestral line? Shall I begin with my father, Heimdall, or -"

"Heimdall has no children." His eyes narrowed further in suspicion. She only smiled.

"Does he?" She crossed to the other side of his bed and sat down, stretching her legs out parallel to his. "Heimdall was once married, you know."

"I do. He lost his family to an attack of the frost giants." The bitterness leaked into his voice then, and he did not try to hide it. Always the villains, his ancestors, always the monsters. "He offered his services to the All-Father in hopes of keeping it from happening to anyone else."

"Such a sweet story. Completely made up, but sweet, nonetheless." She shifted onto her side. "Heimdall's wife was a völva, one of the last in Asgard. Her gift came naturally, as did Heimdall's, but less controllable. Heimdall was a messenger, providing reports on the movements on Midgard. One night he was away, Odin All Father approached his wife. She had been known to give direction to their neighbors and close friends, and he wanted her to do the same with him. It is unclear whether she refused his request or if she said something to anger him, but Odin chased her from the house, out onto a cliff and then made it seem as if Frost Giants had attacked the area. Folly, if one thought about it. Odin had already defeated the Frost Giants in Jotunnheim, and even if they had attacked, they would not have restricted it to such a small area. But Heimdall's house was near the Bifrost, and Odin used the excuse that the Frost Giants were weak, but seeking petty vengeance where they could. And when Heimdall returned, he persuaded him to guard the Bifrost, a job no one else would take."

There was a twisted sort of sense made in her story, and Loki wondered if his easy acceptance of it had more to do with his general distrust of Odin or something more sinister. "And Heimdall's wife? Your mother?"

Her smile was sweet. "Yes. She survived the fall, and hid me away from Odin's reach. She taught me everything she knew, and urged me to hide my gift when it became apparent that my ability surpassed even hers. The offspring of a völva and seiðr practioner; she couldn't have set a more difficult task."

Loki was quiet a moment, digesting the information. He still could not detect any falsehoods from her, but that would mean accepting that Fa-Odin was capable of murder. "And you expect me to believe this?"

Orisis smiled. "Believe what you like, my king. I am only here to show you the way."

"The way to what?" He didn't like when she went out of his line of sight, and liked it even less when she decided to disappear in the midst of a discussion. "Get back here!"

"The way to greatness." And then the room was empty.

But not for long. There was the ringing of a gong of some type, and then the door was drawn open, and Thor's golden head peered in. "Brother," he boomed, and smiled. Loki tried to hide his. He failed.

Thor's imposing presence seemed to fill the room, the rightful Prince of Asgard recovered from their journey. "You are looking well," he rumbled, and Loki had to look away lest the relief surging through him showed through his eyes. He had known Thor would forgive him, eventually, for his deeds on Midgard. He knew that Thor had never stopped thinking of him as a brother, even after the truth of his heritage had come to light, had known that Thor would return to make sure he had settled into his false prison well, but to see him, to be faced with the full brunt of Thor's bloody golden heart...He'd rather not.

"The guard did not bother you overmuch, did he?" Thor had settled on the edge of the bed, and Loki shuffled over to give him room. As gentle as the Asgardian tried to be, Thor simply was too huge to be treated normally. He shot the man an annoyed look, the severest he could come up with considering the circumstances.

"He was fine. He fell asleep about an hour after you left. I awoke this morning to find him gone; one can only hope that he'd been severely reprimanded and then relieved of his duties."

He only realized his mistake when Thor's face lit up in delight. "Speaking to me now, are you?"

Loki growled, and looked away. Thor chuckled, then sighed, facing the room at large. There was quiet for a moment and Loki wondered just what the other was preparing to say. Probably that he'd tried to avoid the sentencing but that he'd failed, and the executioner was on his way to kill him now. Loki wasn't sure he'd mind.

"I am sorry if I have hurt you, Loki." Thor's low rumbling voice broke into his thoughts. "Damaging your pride or self-worth has never been my intention."

"Do _not_ begin to blubber at me, Thor. I assure you, it is a form of punishment too severe even for my transgressions." Loki glared a hole into Thor's shoulder, shoving the man's larger bulk with the tip of his foot. The man's over-exuberance he could bear, to a point, but being faced with a _sad_ Thor was like nothing he wanted to think about. "Persist and I will feed you to the bilgesnipe."

Thor smiled at him, the creases around his eyes a little uncertain, but it was a smile, and he did not try to convince Loki of his sincerity any more. "Has Father spoken to you, Brother? He has not been present in the Throne room all morning."

Loki sneered, his thoughts racing over and into each other. "Your father has yet to make an appearance. I assure you, I have been eagerly awaiting his presence."

Thor's gaze was perplexed. "But he expressed the utmost desire to speak with you."

Loki tried not to be derisive. "Yes, well, a King is very busy, ruling an entire realm. Something more important came up."

"You are his son!" Thor boomed, and Loki did roll his eyes this time. "Nothing is more important!"

"Wrong, Thor. You are his son. I am the stolen bastard prince of Jotunnheim, the tool he planned to forge to wield over the Frost Giants, nothing more. Now that I've proven my true worth -"

"Cease! Do not give ear to these poisonous -"

"Are you so blind?" Loki roared, shifting to his feet on the heavy mattress he'd laid on. Thor's eyes were wide, disbelieving as he gazed up at him and Loki felt a surging wash of rage. "Can you really not see? Are you deliberately refusing to see the things laid out in front of your face or are you so enamored with the greatness of your father that you cannot tell when he is being _less_ that the saint he's made himself out to be?"

"Father has never treated you as anything less than a son." Thor asserted quietly.

Loki stared, suddenly tired but equally frustrated. How could he not know? "You remember we ruined that important dinner, the summer you broke your arm. You were bored out of your mind because the nurse refused to remove you from bed rest. I proposed a game, it got out of hand - "

"We crashed into the grand ballroom on Auðumbla." Thor's face shone in remembered joy. "Father was furious at first, but Mother talked him down. The dignitaries from Nidavellir were more amused than offended. Mother put us to bed, we had no dessert that week as punishment, and all was forgiven."

"Except Father made me serve a week in the kitchens as punishment for filling your mind with '_ideas'_. Remember? You came into the kitchens once, with your blubbering idiots because you were filthy and mother refused to let you into the dining hall, and you tried to get me to join your mock battle - "

"You refused, said you were helping, learning responsibility - "

"And you fled, never looking back. You came to my bed that night, awash with the thrill of winning, but I was ill, wasn't I?"

"Chills. You said you were in pain, your heart was racing, I thought you had a fever but you pitched a fit when I proposed to call the nurse."

"Indeed." He hopped from the bed, stepping close enough that he could feel the man's body heat against his skin. "And what, do you suppose was the cause of that?"

"Heat exhaustion. Your hours in the kitchen, now that I know that's what you were doing."

"And what would you say if I told you the only person who knew my true heritage _sent_ me to the kitchen, and gave strict orders as to what I was supposed to do there?"

"Loki, surely - "

"I was tasked to the _furnace_!" his voice came in a low hiss. "Slaving over coals the entire day through! Is that not barbaric enough to be considered torture for a normal child, or do you think, Oh Mighty Thor, that it was fit pun - "

Thor gripped him then, his large, rough hands clamping over Loki's own forearms, and shook him, bringing him close. "What else?" There were tears in his eyes, and Loki fought not to look away from the force of the Asguardian's emotions. "What else has he done to you?"

Loki stared the other down, face gone blank and a blue frost creeping over his skin. When he spoke, his tone was slightly mocking, not that he thought Thor would pick it up. "Would you like a list?"

There were hands on his skin, running through his hair, and Loki sighed. The afternoon had been a long one, and he'd been more than ready to retire to his bed and forget the rest of the universe existed.

Thor had indeed wanted a list, and the exercise of recounting all the twisted acts and blatant barbs thrown at him from Odin or because of Odin's direction had exhausted him so thoroughly he had had flashbacks of those few moments after he'd been released from the horror of the Chitauri prison. Thor had retreated, filled with a stinging mixture of righteous indignation and remorse, having apologized within an inch of his life before Loki managed to get him to shut up; he couldn't handle it. All he'd wanted all his life was to be recognized, and when it became obvious that he wouldn't be, he'd wanted vengeance, but only so much that would level the playing field. He'd still wanted his mother, though he felt betrayed into thinking she could ever be his, his lineage making him cursed. He'd thought his whole life one giant joke after another at the hands of his entire 'family', and to find out that it was only Odin that had played games with his head reignited that thirst for vengeance. It was why he'd ripped through Midgard the way he had, despite having the skills to accomplish the task set to him by the Chitauri near silently and without detection. He'd wanted Odin to pay, in a twisted fashion, for making the mess that he was, a vulnerable tool that Thanos could sink his hooks into and manipulate, wanted Odin to realize that every one of Loki's destructive actions was his fault, and his alone, for breaking him.

Now, though, he just wanted a hug. Frigga had been good at those. As had Thor, and though the rightful prince of Asgard had pulled him into a deep embrace that Loki refused to find the strength to pull away from, Thor had retreated quickly, apologizing for taking liberties with his person and fled. Loki had watched him leave, a gnawing type of pain taking root in his chest as he flopped gracelessly to the bed, and berated himself for always pushing the other away.

Too late now.

He'd laid shivering helplessly on the cushion of pillows for less than a minute before she was there, hands sinking into his hair and then his body had floated, sans clothing, towards an ornately carved golden tub that most assuredly had not been in his rooms before, and then he'd sank chin deep into the blissfully cold water, and he'd forgotten to think.

Presently, he felt much better, the lassitude of oncoming sleep clouding his mind and vision ever so slightly, so when he looked around and found her nowhere in sight, his first thought was that she'd left him. He'd half risen from the bath before the wardrobe door eased open, and Loki sent a wave of water crashing over the side of the tub and onto his floors as he flopped ungracefully back to cover himself.

Orisis had had the gall to chuckle. "You are forgetting, my King. I undressed you not an hour ago."

He had forgotten, but that was not for her to know. "I hardly think that matters. It shows a severe lack of propriety for a man to parade about unclothed in the presence of a maiden who is not his wife."

She smiled, stepping forward. "Then parade about, my liege. I will keep your secrets."

His response was lost to Valhalla, his mind suddenly blank as Orisis entered the bedchamber proper. Where before she had worn a simple dress that swept the floor in its length, the pale gold fabric setting off her skin, she was now clothed in veritable swaths of cloth, one swept across her chest in a decent approximation of covering, and a skirt that had splits so high, one on each side, they reached the very top of the waist. Through the skirt slipped her legs with every step, her skin shimmering in a way that he could not tell was because of the light or illusion, but he wanted to touch it, and he deeply resented the manipulation.

"I hope you've looked your fill?"

He glared up at her from his seat amongst the dwindling bubbles. He had not noticed her come closer, and it was decidedly strange to feel heat pool in his stomach when every other part of him was blissfully cold. "Clothe yourself this instant! How dare you present yourself to me in that fashion?"

Her smile annoyed him, but he couldn't look away. "My apologies, your grace, but this is my bathing outfit."

"Bathing outfit?" he asked faintly. Surely she couldn't mean what he thought she meant...

"Indeed, liege mine. I've come to give you a bath."

Loki had to admit, she was adequate.

She was fairly adept at back scrubbing, merely loosening the taut muscles there instead of providing absolute relief. It was her technique, he decided, one half of his mind paying her hands the utmost attention, the other wandering blissfully through inconsequential thoughts. More rubbing than kneading, in gentle circles instead of firm strokes. She was having decidedly too much fun with his skin, a realization that came to him as her fingers trailed along his spine and the slight shiver it caused in his person caused her to giggle softly into his shoulder. He was too tired to care. She set to scrubbing his chest soon after, and Loki made himself pay more attention. He wouldn't put it past her to do something more...inadvisable.

"I am proud of you."

He sighed, not bothering to open his eyes. "I do not care."

She chuckled, the scent of apples wafting over him. "Still, it was very brave of you."

"Cease your blathering." Another laugh. He really couldn't be bothered at the moment that she didn't find him half as intimidating as he truly was. She had found a particularly stubborn knot, and it took all his attention to make sure she focused there, and not anywhere else. It had nothing to do with his senses zeroing in on the slight heat his hands provided into his skin, with his being hyperaware of her every stroke and roll and pinch of his body. "To the right." She complied, and Loki relaxed completely, his head falling back and onto her shoulder, the knot suddenly gone and him feeling stones lighter. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been, how abused his body had been all through the Midgardian Adventure, as his mind called it. She gave a pleased sort of hum against his ear that he chose to ignore. "Mind your hands," he mumbled as the towel floated along his side and her fingers began to stray.

"Simply continuing your massage, Your Highness." He peeled an eye open to fix her with a glare, and she smiled, light glinting off the tip of her canine. "I wouldn't want you to become tense."

"I don't need any help with tension there."

Hands slipped away from his stomach and Loki growled, eliciting a chuckle from above him. Her shoulder was replaced with a pillow of some sort, and then she moved to the other end of the tub. He watched her suspiciously, not altogether displeased with the way the firelight from the torches flickered against her skin. Her hands, blue to the tips of her fingers slipped into the water near his feet and Loki growled, surging forward and sending another wave of water over the edge and to the floor, catching her hands in his and shaking the woman. She gazed at him with a pleased sort of smug expression, firelight setting off her eyes like flaming shards of glass in the inky sky, and he found himself incensed.

"Have you no common sense? Will you truly endanger yourself in such a fashion in a bid to win my favor?"

"I'm only doing what needs to be done. Hot water would have made you ill."

"And freezing your fingers off is a reasonable alternative?" he snapped. When she continued to gaze at him in an amused sort of fashion he snapped. "To the fire. Now."

"My King, your f - "

"I said now, you gormless twit!" He was appeased only when she took herself from the side of the tub and across the room to the fireplace, though his ire was partially reignited when he saw the front of her skirt was wet all the way through, and that her feet were bare, and their soles blue.

"Of all the illusionists in the nine realms, I had to be tasked with a simpleton." He snarled as he rose from the tub, nearly slipping on the floor on his way to the towel which was on the edge of his bed. In a thoroughly bad mood he crossed to his wardrobe, yanking a tunic over his head and searching for a pair of pants that _weren't_ suitable for war. Finally, he found two pairs in the back beneath the first bow Frigga had given him, and yanked a pair on. The other he grabbed and presented to his...torment. "Put these on, before you freeze to death." he stormed away, gathering an end of his blanket in his arms and yanking it off, ignoring the muzzle and other knick-knacks that fell to the floor.

He stomped back to the fireplace, bundling her in the folds of the blanket with more force than was strictly necessary. She never ceased her watching of his face, an action that made him fear for her sanity. "How is it you've survived life thus far without common sense?" he snapped, bending at the waist and glaring into her eyes. Finally, miracles of miracles, her eyes dropped, the slightest downturn of her lips and Loki felt the annoyance leave him. He sighed aloud for good measure, before settling himself slightly away from the fire, collapsing into a grand plush chair that hadn't been there moments ago. She wanted to cater to him? Fine.

"You told your brother my story."

He didn't realize he was staring at the fire till she interrupted him, forcefully dragging his attention away from the painful depths they'd become swamped in and back to the present, where he was safe and nearly hale, a prisoner bidding his time, it seemed. "I did."

She smiled at him then, smug for a reason he couldn't begin to understand. "You don't believe me."

"I prefer to ere on the side of caution." He met her gaze fearlessly. There was something here, with her, that he couldn't put a name to, but it was there, and as long as it was he was determined to figure it out.

"Caution." She shot him an appraising look, one that swept from his head to his feet. "A commendable trait in a king." She smiled again, her eyes lighting up in a way Loki knew would bode ill for his temper, before it fell, her eyes locking on the door as her hair fell across her shoulder in the wake of that movement. The shattered gold there suddenly shifted to molten silver with the barest flecks of amber strewn throughout, her pert nose flaring as she heaved, breath passing her lips in soft pants, and shifted, incensed. "You have a visitor." The harsh tone surprised even him as she spun, flinty eyes locked with his, and Loki leaned back, surprised to find he'd been leaning forward but keeping his reaction a secret.

He surveyed her expression, the rage there, and raised his eyebrows in askance. "It is not Thor." The soft, hurried tapping filled the room, and Loki's eyes shot to the door, before returning to the agitated volva still seated on the floor. "Who is it?" She glared still further, and the knock sounded again. "Someone that can hurt me?"

At this she hissed, and the glare she gave him was laced with poison, the silver in her eyes actively swirling with her ire. "Not YET." And then she was gone, the flames swaying in her wake, the pile of blankets sagging to the side as if she'd risen from them. Inwardly cursing the fickleness of women, Loki stood, and considered the door.

As far as he knew, he had no control over who came in and didn't, but the person on the other side did not know this, clearly, or else they would not have knocked. What would happen should he touch the door? He was certain there had to be some kind of deterrent, since they surely knew that they couldn't keep him bound with a simple lock...still he was weak, and SAFE, two rather large deterrents from breaking out. He had been armed with a guard that had been prepared to kill him at the slightest appearance of an escape plan, however. Perhaps the powers that be had decided that that was enough?

Either way, Loki was not taking the chance. He shuffled as close to the door as he dared, and in the most imperious voice he could muster, shouted "Enter!"


End file.
